


Revelry

by Deathtouch



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Humiliation, Male Solo, Masturbation, Other, solo fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathtouch/pseuds/Deathtouch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There was another part, though, a tiny sliver inside of him that burned with pleasure when thoughts of humiliation crossed through his mind.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelry

**Author's Note:**

> a birthday gift to my amazing beta and possible favorite person, Subwaywolf. thank you for beta-reading your own gift.

A man does not go from no one with nothing to a lord with land and titles without being able to withstand a little humiliation.

In all honesty, Petyr scarcely remembered a day in his life where he wasn't humiliated in one way or another. His ears didn't burn at the name 'Littlefinger' anymore and he did a good job pretending the looks people gave him didn't bother him, but he'd always been a self-conscious man. It was ingrained in him. He had been made aware of the fact that he was lesser than everyone around him ever since he was little. The feeling of being beneath his peers never, ever went away. No matter how much money he made or what position he held on the small council. Petyr always felt it, in the back of his mind, reminding him who he was.

Petyr scarcely gave in to those thoughts. Partly because he didn't have time for them, but mostly because he was a different man than he used to be. (A man who'd earned his rankings in life.) There was another part, though, a tiny sliver inside of him that burned with pleasure when thoughts of humiliation crossed through his mind.

You'd think a man who owned as many whores as he did would have no trouble getting off. It was harder than that. Girls didn't please him, and males didn't interest him, and everything in between seemed so boring. There was never enough time in the day to put aside for himself anyway. There were too many things to get done. Too many places to be.

Every once in a while it did become hard to ignore his body aching for release.

Sometimes he would go to bed and dream of Brandon slashing him to ribbons. He'd dream of cowering before the Stark, whose blood wet sword was in his hands, disgusted and unimpressed with Baelish's feeble attempt at a fight. He'd dream of Catelyn, staring down at him in the mud, pity clouding over her eyes. He would wake with his cock hard, and a burning in his belly.

Sometimes, in the midst of meetings of the small council he would find himself imagining what it would be like on his hands and knees, bowing before the king. Any king. Naked at the foot of the cold iron throne, forced to lick the boots clean of the man who sat in it. He imagined how degrading it would be to kneel before a King as fat and sloppy as Robert, or as young and cruel as Joffrey. Not that he cared for either, it was being under their heel he craved.

Sometimes he got distracted by the goings on of his whores. He considered what it would be like in their place, having a hungry man look him over. Being bent at the waist, and inspected to see if he was good enough. Tight enough. Clean enough.

Petyr Baelish did more than just withstand humiliation, sometimes he reveled in it. When he did finally give in to the ache for release, he also gave in to that tiny sliver of himself that he so often ignored.

That was how he found himself with his cock in hand now, one thumb stroking the sensitive head of his manhood, and the other tracing the raised edge of the scar Brandon had given him. It wasn't so much the scar that he enjoyed but the memory, still raw in his mind, and the shame that he associated it with. There were no marks on his skin to show for all the high born lords and ladies who had laughed at him throughout his life, or he'd be fingering those scars too.

Petyr stumbled upon the thought of Brandon fucking him into the dirt, in front of all of Riverrun. Teaching him a lesson, and giving him more than just a scar, but a fat cock up his ass to show him where he really belonged.

There was something that happened when Petyr's mind found the right fantasy. A flash of nerves would spark in his gut. That was what happened to him now. The humiliation and shame coupled with his fingers on his own cock worked together to create a delicious spike of pleasure that licked out like hot fire from the depths of his belly. It made Petyr groan. It only lasted a second; a pulse, a heartbeat. It was good, but he wanted more.

Petyr found oil to ease the friction, and poured it onto his fingers before he carried on stroking himself. His hand was made slick, and wet, which in turn made it much easier to fuck his cock with his fist. The pumping motions enticed a fantastic pressure that slowly grew, and built up inside of him. 

He tried to call back the feelings of humiliation that made his body tingle with delight, but it wasn’t coming to him. It wasn’t always so easy. He redirected his efforts and focused on the ways most other men pleasured themselves. He let his muscles tense one by one, and his breathing turned heavy. His hand worked diligently all the while, in constant stroking motions. It was wet with oil, and his fingers were curled tight around his cock, and his palm was warm. It was easy to get lost in the rhythm, and he came closer and closer to letting himself explode with each stroke.

His thoughts wandered to the Starks again. This time maybe it was Eddard, in a jealous rage, furious to find his wife keeping company in a whore house. The noble Ned Stark would never do such a thing but that almost made the idea better. The idea that Petyr was the exception, and he needed to be punished so badly Ned Stark would stoop low enough to fucking him like an animal to make him pay. It sent delicious shivers down Petyr’s spine. 

Petyr Baelish had never bottomed for a man outside of his imagination, but he couldn’t stop his mind from going there now. His hips jerked in response to his own thoughts. All of a sudden the idea of someone, anyone, ramming their cock into Petyr’s ass hit him like lance in the chest. It made his whole body react, jolting with want and pleasure. Blood rushed somewhere deep and intimate inside of him that he’d never felt before. It warmed him all over, made his cock thrum, and his stomach do a flip.

When his climax burst out from him, it burst from that deep place within, from the pit of his belly, from the whole of his cock, from his aching balls. Come spurted up into the air and landed on his knuckles, on his stomach, and on his thighs. Petyr stroked himself through it, panting.

He groaned, aftershocks racing through him. He continued stroking for a long time after his orgasm, whispering curses to himself. His breath slowly returned to him, and he was limp by the time he let his cock go. He actually felt weak, which was not something that happened when he touched himself. Not usually. He was always satisfied and sated when done, but not worked over to the point of being tired. He had definitely worn himself out this time, and for a while he just stayed sitting, messy with oil and come.

What had been that pulsing inside of him? He had a good idea. There were rumors that a man in his line of business would have come across at one time or another, but he’d never had any proof that those rumors were true. He’d never felt anything like that before. He didn’t know what to do with himself now that he had. 

Petyr entertained the idea of finding out, with certainty. There were toys both glass blowers and smiths specialized in. Toys that looked like cocks and came in all shapes and sizes. Toys that he had an array of at his disposal. He had never wanted to try playing with one before. He wasn’t sure he wanted to try playing with one now either. Those toys better served whores, and he was no whore. 

The idea of being as filthy as a whore did give him a twist of delight, though. He felt that same spot inside of him pulse, as deep and intimate as before. His sensitive cock twitched. He still felt raw from the orgasm he’d had, and so it ached as much as it felt good. 

There were things to do, places to be, matters to attend. Petyr didn’t have time to wait for his cock to rise again. He was a little saddened to have to clean himself up, but there was no time to waste. Maybe next time he’d try a toy he’d never tried before. 

Maybe. 

The shame of being caught enjoying such a toy, all alone with it at that, was a great one. Petyr fought a smile just thinking of it. Perhaps he would have to make time to play with a few toys. He might even leave the door unlocked if he did. 

It was true, Petyr Baelish did more than just withstand humiliation; sometimes he reveled in it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading


End file.
